


Behind The Mask

by Britpacker



Series: Masks [1]
Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-27
Updated: 2013-11-27
Packaged: 2018-08-15 17:11:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8065027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Britpacker/pseuds/Britpacker
Summary: A lot of people think they know Trip Tucker.  They’re wrong.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Kylie Lee, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Warp 5 Complex](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Warp_5_Complex), the software of which ceased to be maintained and created a security hazard. To make future maintenance and archive growth easier, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but I may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Warp 5 Complex collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/Warp5Complex).
> 
>  **Author's notes:** Just a short first-person piece of reflection. A companion piece from Malcolm's perspective should follow (hopefully!)

  
Author's notes: Mild spoilers for the whole Xindi thing. If you look sideways.  


* * *

So many people call themselves my friend. That's good, isn't it? It's human to want to be liked, and you just ask T'Pol. I'm as human as they come. 

They all think they know me, too. Take Johnny who calls me his best friend, who was as close as another brother before command got in the way. He'll tell you how I can handle any liquor but my Granddaddy Johnson's moonshine. That I spent my last vacation on Earth in Milan especially to see _Tosca_ at La Scala. That the helmet I keep on display in my quarters hasn't really been used, and that I'm gonna start sobbin' at exactly the same moment each time I watch _Casablanca_. 

Ask him "How well do you know Trip Tucker?" and I'll guarantee his answer will be "Better than I know anybody else".

Then there's my staff. The whole engineering crew who call me "Commander" and "Sir" to my face and think I don't know they're thinkin' Trip, 'cause that's what they call me when they think my door's shut.

They can tell you about catfish, pan-fried and served with lemon wedges. They'll wrap their mouths around the Klingon cusses I've tossed at the engines, and the aliens who've targeted said engines with their fancy death-rays, over the years. Hoshi's not the only officer with an ear for an accent, I can tell you.

Pecan Pie, scuba diving, open water, sad movies and cute animals. I'm a sucker for all those things, and everyone knows it. Because I'm Trip Tucker - that open, uncomplicated, good ol' Southern boy who never holds anything back from anybody.

Yeah, right!

Even my folks don't _really_ know me. I couldn't tell them about the black hole I fell into after Lizzie died, or the nervous twitches I develop when I can't hear those warp engines hummin' their lullaby in the middle of the night, or the time I almost dyed my hair bright green for a bet. Hell, findin' out about that'd freak Momma more than bein' told her firstborn son was foolin' around with the guy doing summer work on Mister Woods's farm! 

None of them guesses that I melt when a tongue flicks over my ankle bone. They'd never dream that I can get the giggles watching a sex scene in the dark of movie night, 'cause secretly I find sex a little - well, _awkward_. 

Not doing it - that's come easy since I met Lucy Dawson behind the gym at high school - or Christian Fraser in the john off our Academy dorm. Talking about it, though, or seein' other people, real-life kissin' in the corridors or actors makin' it look for real on screen - that creeps me out. I'm weird like that. 

Not with him, though. 

Guess everybody knows the Trip they know. Even T'Pol's got one of my little secrets,that spot on the side of my neck that's connected straight to my cock. I've sure as hell never told Jon Archer about that!

I hadn't even told him I found men attractive until - well, until it got kind of obvious.

Which it did, thanks to _him_. The only person who connects all the dots, who knows all those things about me and more besides. The man whose smile across the situation room brought me runnin' along B deck like my tail's on fire right off shift. The man whose door's standing open for me right now because he knows the message was received and understood. 

The man who's just grabbed me by the balls and stuck his tongue so far down my throat there's a chance it'll come out through my asshole. Which he'll need free for something else, I hope, when he's finished kissin' me senseless.

Malcolm.

I can't hide anything from him, and not just because he's the most observant sonofagun in Starfleet. Because I don't want to. He knows me - warts, erogenous zones and all. That's what he wants.

And I'll give him anything. He's the one who makes me howl with laughter, scream with frustration and whimper with joy, mostly all in the same moment. I'd do it now if he'd just give me my mouth back for long enough. 

He's ravenous. For me. 

That's something else folks don't know. That I'm the luckiest bastard in space. 

He loves me for what I am, not what he thinks I should be. He's seen behind the mask, and what's there is good enough for him.

Guess that makes means all my "friends" are right. To win Malcolm Reed's heart, Trip Tucker really must be an alright kind of guy.


End file.
